


Fever

by DarlaBlack



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Love, Post-Break Up, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-03
Updated: 2018-07-03
Packaged: 2019-06-04 18:52:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15153443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarlaBlack/pseuds/DarlaBlack
Summary: Scully is sick and alone. Mulder to the rescue.





	Fever

She has been to the doctor and filled her prescription. There is nothing to do but wait, rest, drink, sleep. It is unbearable. She nearly falls down in the shower, spinning and gripping at the slippery walls as the room seems to lift and tilt around her. Her vision lightens in the heavy steam, and she knocks her shampoo bottle into the tub but manages not to crack her head on the wall. In her fevered near-delirium, she does not worry. She turns off the water and goes through the motions like a robot, the illness deadening, finally, the dull throb of shame and anguish that has been her constant companion these few months.

Dried and clothed, she collapses onto the stiff mattress in her furnished month-to-month apartment. It is an impersonal space, a sorrowful house of impermanence where dust and regret collect in the corners. She’s been hear nearly two months, but has barely managed to put her clothes into the drawers. Two framed photos, the apartment’s only embellishments, adorn her dresser top: baby William, of course, and a near-candid snap of her and Mulder, taken at a rest stop on some dust-covered bit of Route-66 in early 2004. The woman who took it thought they’d been tourists and had grabbed the shot before they could correct her. In it, the sky behind them looms in an immensity matched only by the flat scrub-plains behind them. They are smirking at each other, not ready for the flash; his hand rests on her denim-covered hip. It is her most favorite photo of them.

Scully looks across the room at the small frames with glassy, unfocused eyes, and thinks how all the joy in her life has been reduced to these two palm-sized objects in an otherwise empty place. She knows she should eat, but cannot conjure the energy. Instead she sleeps and sweats and dreams of him. When she wakes, she leans back toward him, where she is sure he will be waiting, but finds only the cold half of the bed. Sluggish, she realizes it is the phone that woke her.

“H’lo,” she croaks into it.

“Dana, is that you? You sound awful.”

“Mom? You okay?” Her voice is stronger now, but still sounds wrong in her ears. The glands in her neck feel swollen and her head is pounding.

“I should be asking you. Dana, are you okay?”

“Sick,” she says. “It’s fine.”

She hears a heavy sigh from the other end and there is a brief pause. “I was just calling to tell you that I’m heading to the airport now to visit Bill and the kids. I’ll be back next Thursday.” There’s another pause. “Are you sure you’re alright? Do you want me to call Fox?”

“No!” Scully says quickly, but it comes out strangely and makes her cough. “Mom, I gotta go. I’ll see you next week?”

Another long pause. “Okay. Take care, sweetheart. Feel better.”

“Thanks, mom.” She hangs up and collapses back onto the pillows.

—

When she awakens the second time, she smells food. Real food, not the comingled stench of so much takeout from the sad neighboring apartments. Home-made food, and the smell is coming from her own kitchen. “Mom?” she calls out, confused. She can barely lift her head.

She is surprised when Mulder tiptoes into the bedroom, sheepish and worried. “Hi,” he says, lowering himself to sit beside her. “Your mom called me.”

Scully’s hands come up to her face and she shakes her head. “Goddamnit,” she says. “She shouldn’t have done that. I’m fine.”

He frowns and pulls her hands from her face, lifts the back of his own hand to feel her forehead. “Scully, I’ve been here three hours and you haven’t moved once. I knocked. Had to get the landlord to let me in.” His face is strained, his eyes wounded. “Had to check your pulse when I saw you lying there.” He pulls his hand back and she imagines his panic when she didn’t answer the door. “You’re still on fire.”

She shakes her head. “I’m sorry.” And she is. She never wanted to worry him, but she is so glad to see him out of the house. Dressed. Apparently making her dinner. He swipes a lock of sweat-dampened hair back from her face and places a quick kiss there.

“Be right back,” he says.

She hears him rummaging in the tiny bathroom, running water, and then he returns with three small brown pills, ibuprofen, and a glass of water. “Drink it all, if you can. It will help.”

She can’t help the small smile that comes to her face. “You’re doctoring me now?” She sips. Swallows.

“In sickness and in health,” he murmurs, and she can’t help it, her eyes well with tears against her will.

“Mulder—“

“It’s okay,” he says, shaking his head. “Let me get your soup.”

He helps her sit, would feed her if she let him, which of course she doesn’t, and stays when she is finished.

“Nice place,” he says when he can’t think of anything else.

She gives him a look.

“What? It’s not so bad.”

She realizes he must have seen the photos on her dresser. “It’s not home,” she says with a thick voice, unsure if it is from swelling or tears.

“No,” he says. “It’s not.”

They are both propped against the pillows at her headboard, and she angles her body toward him. She lets her hand rest on his forearm. “Are you doing okay?”

He shrugs. “I’m trying. I’m getting out of the house and off the computer most days.” His eyes find hers and they are solemn. “I miss you.”

She feels the quaver of her bottom lip and her voice is not ready to speak so she nods until she can squeak out a “Me too.” She knows it is because of the fever, but she can’t work up the resolve to hold him away from her, even if she thinks he needs more time to heal. She is weak, and she misses him. “Will you stay with me? Just tonight?”

“Will you come back?”

“Mulder—“ She swallows hard. They have had this conversation already. She does not have the energy to have it again. She says only, “Not yet.”

He nods, as if he’d been expecting it. “I’ll stay,” he says. “As long as you need. I brought a bag.”

Scully nearly melts with relief. She curls against him to rest her head on the rise and fall of his abdomen. His arms come around her, petting her hair, her shoulder, her back. “Thank you,” she whispers.

Soon, she is asleep again, and he holds her like he won’t ever let her go.

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a tumblr request for breakup sickfic.  
> tumblr: spookydarlablack


End file.
